


Open Book

by hgdoghouse



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-25
Updated: 2011-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-26 12:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an uncover operation went pear-shaped Doyle's injured and Bodie's suspended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Book

Wishing he had given the Squad room a miss in his search for Bodie, Doyle eyed Gill with barely veiled contempt. "Yeah, yeah," he dismissed when the older man stopped to draw breath.

"You're pretty flippant considering Bodie put his neck on the block to get you out. He could have been killed."

While prone to stating the obvious himself on occasion, Doyle had little patience with others seeking the same indulgence, and none with Gill at any time. "So?"

"So you don't seem very grateful for what Bodie did."

"He's my partner, that's what he's there for - and making the tea, of course." Doyle propped himself against the wall for some much needed support.

"I notice you sing a different tune when Bodie's around."

Doyle waited until the older man's gaze dropped under his own. "Soprano, d'you mean?" With no more than academic interest he wondered if Gill would have the nerve to refer to any of the rumours which had been floating around the locker rooms for years.

"If you like."

"What I like is my business - and Bodie's."

"Not when that includes him giving the Old Man a bollocking for not setting up the operation properly. Very fraught, Bodie was." There was spite in the nasal whine.

While Doyle's expression underwent no great change, Gill straightened in his chair and flicked his tie over the missing button on his shirt.

"Bodie's my partner, he's entitled to worry."

"You take him for granted."

"True," Doyle agreed with a spurious affability. "Bodie's the only bloke on the Squad who's good enough, that's why."

"At what?"

"Anything you care to name." Doyle's quiet voice contained a warning edge. "But if I hear anyone else repeating that I'll know where it came from, won't I?"

"And what do you imagine you can do about it?" With a show of bravado Gill swung his chair back on two legs, obviously trusting in his surroundings to protect him.

The noise he made as he landed on the floor, a tin tray loaded with mugs sent flying by his flailing arm adding to the din, brought Berenson and Lewis into the room at a run.

"What the - ?"

"Relax," Doyle told the former, stepping with a cat-like fastidiousness through the debris, "Gill's safe enough, he landed on his brains." He left before anyone thought to question him.

The noise level around headquarters was higher than normal as agents, still buzzing with adrenalin, returned to base. A number had been called out when Doyle's undercover assignment turned sour. Intent on finding his partner, Doyle took little notice of the attention he was attracting, absently returning greetings and enquiries while methodically sweeping the building. Leaving the computer room, he found himself nose to nose with Lucas and McCabe, both of whom still looked as nervy as whippets.

"Ray, you're all right!" exclaimed Lucas with relief.

"You heard we were late because of our run-in with a brick wall?" McCabe's manner was as close to diffident as Doyle had ever seen it.

"I should think half London heard by the time Cowley finished with you. Fine bloody back-up you two are," Doyle added without malice.

"You know we're - "

"Yeah, I do. These things happen. Don't sweat it. The accident could have happened to anyone."

"But it happened to us," said McCabe unhappily.

"Tell you what," Doyle leant confidentially close and placed an arm around his shoulder, "next time it can happen to Bodie and me. We can live with the shame of it."

"Some comfort you are," grinned McCabe, before he sobered again. "We owe you one, Ray."

"True. And now's your chance to redeem yourself. Where's Bodie? I've been looking for him for hours."

"Five minutes," translated Lucas wisely.

"D'you know where he is?" demanded Doyle with poorly disguised impatience.

"No, but I can tell you where he's been," offered Lucas with a wry, lop-sided smile.

For the first time Doyle noticed the beginning-to-colour patch on the other man's jaw. His expression changed to one of ludicrous dismay. "I thought you got that in the crash. It was _Bodie_?"

Lucas nodded, McCabe scowled.

"The dumb crud," muttered Doyle, dragging a hand back through his hair. "I'm sorry, mate."

"I should bloody well - "

"Give it rest, Andy," interrupted Lucas. "I reckon I got off lightly, considering. If our positions had been reversed..." He cast an unconscious glance at his own partner. "I got off lightly," he repeated. "The only thing that pisses me off is the fact that he - " he jerked a thumb in McCabe's direction " - was the one driving. I told him to run the old biddy down when she stepped out in front of us but would he listen..."

"Thanks, friend. You'll find yourself with a bruise to match on the other side if you keep this up," McCabe promised him with feeling. "Ray, are you sure you're all - ?"

"I'm fine and if you don't stop going on about it I'll flatten you to prove as much. Go and drown your sorrows, you're only making the place look untidy. Have one for me while you're at it."

"Come with us," invited McCabe quickly.

Doyle shook his head. "I'm supposed to steer clear of booze tonight. Besides, it's time Bodie went back on his choke chain." He scanned the corridor as if hoping his partner would materialise in front of him.

"Last we heard, Cowley wanted to see him," offered Lucas.

Doyle sighed. "I'd better go and rescue him."

"Who?" called McCabe, but Doyle had already rounded the corner.

Doyle breezed into Betty's office, through which it was necessary to pass if one wished to see Cowley. "Is Bodie in there?" He pointed a finger and thumb in the direction of the other door.

"That's right." Betty did not look up from the papers she was sorting.

"What does the Old Man want with him?" While the connecting door was not solid enough to cut out the sound of raised voices, it muffled their content.

"Mr Cowley didn't confide in me."

Doyle unleashed a smile. It bounced straight back at him. Never one to pursue a lost cause, he abandoned his attempt to charm. "Can't understand that, a warm-hearted girl like you. It doesn't sound like now would be a good time to interrupt them. Is it OK if I wait here for him?"

It was obvious he intended to stay, irrespective of her wishes.

"For Cowley?"

"No, for Mr Bodie."

Doyle's minor victory in the petty exchange did little to further his cause, Betty's expression of disapproval deepening. "While I don't object, you know Mr Cowley's views on people cluttering up this office as well as I do," she said primly, returning to her collating.

"Stop giving me a hard time. All I want to know is - "

"Did you want me, 4.5?"

With an inward groan Doyle half-turned to see the blur of motion that was Bodie leaving the office and Cowley blocking the way after him.

"No, sir, I just - "

"Then kindly stop harassing my secretary and - "

By the time the lecture was over Doyle wished he had left his partner to stew. Becoming aware that Cowley, who was in no sweet temper, was expecting him to reply, he pinned what he hoped was an intelligent expression in place. "Er - "

"Do you want the leave or not? You're not going to be much use to me for a few days."

"Yes, sir. No, sir. Thank you, sir. Er - how long, sir?"

"If you'd taken the trouble to listen to me for once you would know. A week - if you've completed the report I was expecting two hours ago."

"Kirsty's typing it up now," said Doyle glibly, assuming a look of virtue.

"From this?"

Cowley extended what Doyle recognised as the scrawled note he had optimistically left on Kirsty's desk. About to reply, his face tightened when abused stomach muscles cramped; he gripped the chair back until the spasm eased.

"No doubt I'll be able to decipher it. Get yourself fit," Cowley commanded gruffly; turning to enter his office, his expression threatened to wither the plump cactus squatting on top of the filing cabinet.

Wondering if he should check himself for perforations, Doyle propped his back against the support of the wall, needing a few minutes respite before he began the journey home.

"What did I say?" he enquired plaintively of the room.

"Does it matter? You got a week's leave out of it." Betty's manner underwent an obvious thaw when she looked at Doyle properly and took in his pallor beneath the bruises which seemed to be darkening by the minute. Rising, she poured coffee into a Styrofoam beaker, adding milk and sugar before handing it to him.

"Thanks. Yes, I did didn't I. Funny that, because I'm not due for any. Now why would Cowley - ?"

"Probably to keep you out of his hair until Bodie's back," Betty said, her guard down.

"Back?" Coffee slopped over Doyle's hand as he stepped toward her. "Back from where?" His unblinking gaze pinned her to the spot.

"It's nothing to do with me," Betty heard herself say weakly.

"Then how do you know Bodie won't be here?" Licking cooling liquid from his hand, Doyle's eyes never left her face.

"Bodie only slammed the door shut just before you arrived," she admitted.

"Ah." Doyle stared glumly into his beaker before he set it down. "What's he going to be doing?"

Aware that she had already breached a confidence, Betty's shrug disclaimed further knowledge as she busied herself stapling neatly sectioned piles of paper.

"Then I'll ask Cowley."

"Bodie's on a week's suspension," she said as Doyle's hand closed on the handle of Cowley's door.

"You what?" Open astonishment on his face, Doyle returned to stand over her. "We are talking about the same man, Cowley's blue-eyed boy?"

"Not today, he isn't."

Accepting her peace-offering, all hostility dropped from Doyle's manner. "What's it about, love? I won't quote you," he promised, perching on a clear corner of her desk.

"I know that," she told him irritably. "And mind those papers. Need you ask - the Mortimer Street operation. Bodie didn't approve of you being sent undercover on that from the first."

"I know," Doyle agreed, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I suppose you would," she acknowledged. "So did Cowley by the time Bodie had finished giving his opinion."

Doyle frowned. Despite his partner's reputation as the wild man of CI5, which Bodie did nothing to discourage, it was rare for him to lose his temper. Those few occasions tended to be memorable. Doyle was aware of a prickle of irritation. Maybe one day it would dawn on Bodie that I'm the best undercover man on the Squad. Particularly when he's my back up, he thought, while admitting that luck rather than their much vaunted expertise had kept them kept them alive today. Looking up from the paper clip he had been mutilating, he found Betty studying him with concern.

"You were wearing a wire. I heard the transmission until Lexington found it. Was it as bad as it sounded?"

"I'm here, aren't I," returned Doyle. But he avoided her gaze, having no wish to dwell on the few minutes before Bodie had arrived; Lexington had been a sadistic bastard.

"Yes, and you shouldn't be. Cowley was worried enough to ring the hospital to check up on you. You didn't win yourself any friends in Casualty, did you."

Doyle shrugged. "You know what hospitals are like. I'm not stupid. If it was more than bruises and a bump on the head I'd've stayed in."

Betty gave an unladylike snort. "Why did you come back to HQ, Ray?"

"I had my report to make." There was a hint of defensiveness in Doyle's manner.

"You think a lot of Bodie, don't you?"

The _non sequitur_ took Doyle unawares. "He's all right," he allowed, abandoning his perch. He found himself receiving a rare smile of approval. "You should do that more often," he told her as he recovered from the shock.

"Around you lot?" Betty scoffed.

"Maybe not," Doyle conceded with innate fairness. He gave her as soulful a look as was possible with one purpling eye. "But I'll never understand how you can resist me."

"Will power," she said briskly.

"Never met him," replied Doyle promptly. "You doing anything Friday night?"

"Why?" she asked, caught off-guard.

"Because by then I should be up to giving you a whirl around the dance floor."

Betty shook her head. "Though I'm tempted to say yes just for the pleasure of watching you faint from shock."

"Surrender," Doyle urged in a theatrical whisper, although his Valentino-style swoop over her was ruined when he winced.

"Certainly, if I can bring Geoff with me."

"Lover or husband?" asked Doyle with resignation; he resumed the horizontal in slow stages.

"Son."

"You've got a kid? I didn't know," said Doyle blankly. No one knew anything about Betty; even Cowley's off-duty pursuits were an open book when compared to his secretary's.

"It isn't common knowledge," she acknowledged stiffly, obviously annoyed that she should have broken her unwritten rule and discussed her private life at work.

The woman in front of him having taken on a separate identity from Cowley's secretary and the Squad challenge, Doyle studied her with undisguised interest. "Cowley isn't in favour of employing anyone with a family, least of all those on the front line."

"I'm hardly on that," Betty dismissed, having enjoyed his all-encompassing survey for all that Robbie Allinson's looks and personality were more to her taste.

"You're his secretary, love. And despite the Old Man's fetish about the 'need to know' principle, you must know a lot more than's healthy for you."

"I have been vetted."

Doyle grinned. "I bet you have. How do you manage the hours you put in with a young kid to look after?"

"I get by."

"You must have a reliable baby-sitter," he remarked, busy with his own speculations. She hadn't mentioned a husband or lover; even allowing for Betty being an unlucky sixteen-year-old mum her son couldn't be more than ten or so.

"Geoff will be eight in October and I've just had my twenty-eighth birthday," Betty volunteered, amusement evident in her voice.

He gave her a look of surprise.

"That's what you were wondering, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. Not that I would've been ungallant enough to ask. I learnt that much years ago. I must be slipping."

"Just exhausted after the op. Now you're starting to relax your guard. You don't do that often enough." When he tensed, his eyes narrowing in warning, she gave a quizzical smile. "I see you don't like people trespassing onto personal territory any more than I do."

Doyle gave a reluctant grin. "Point taken," he said appreciatively. "I'll stop being nosy. But you've got a good interrogation technique. Very good."

"I know. Does all this admiration mean you'll stop wasting your talents on me?"

"Do I have a choice? Are you sure you won't come and paint the town red with me?"

"Thanks, but no thanks."

"You'll never know what you're missing," he warned her.

"Given the gossip around this place, I've got a shrewd idea. Don't worry, you won your Brownie points years ago."

"I'm relieved to hear it. Seems a shame though, we could've won our fortunes," mourned Doyle.

"You'll get by."

Turning as he reached the door, Doyle's eyes were lit with an unholy amusement. "If you did but know. Don't work too hard."

"I won't. Enjoy your leave. Oh, Ray!"

His head reappeared around the edge of the door, face scrunched as various sore spots protested at this cavalier treatment.

"Bodie was ordered to stay in London," she volunteered.

Blowing her a kiss, Doyle went on his way. Remembering his car-less state he ambled out onto the streets and hailed a taxi.

Sifting through his pockets when the taxi came to a halt at its destination and finding only enough change for the fare with a three pence tip, he met the driver's two-fingered salute with resigned fortitude. Flattening the bell to Bodie's ground floor flat, it seemed a long time before the intercom kicked into life.

"Yes?" The tone was not encouraging.

"'S me."

"Oh joy. Go home, Ray."

Doyle slapped his hand back on the bell and kept it there. "Listen, you bad-tempered son-of-a-bitch, one way or another I'm coming in and I'm in no mood to break down doors." In the circumstances he wasn't surprised when the door was wrenched open a short while later.

"What the hell do you want?" Dark, dishevelled and dangerous-looking, Bodie had obviously been drinking.

"I'm delighted to see you, too, mate. You look worse than I feel," added Doyle chattily as he propped himself in the doorway, more to prevent the door being slammed in his face than for support.

Bodie's expression darkened.

Having been probing his sore ribs, Doyle gave a wince which was only half-feigned. As he hoped, the reminder of his injured state resulted in a slight thaw.

"Are you all right?" Bodie asked grudgingly.

"Aching a bit," Doyle conceded, relieved he could stop pretending. "I could murder a cup of tea."

"So naturally you came here for one." But the bite had left Bodie's voice as he stepped back, allowing Doyle entry. Except for his too careful diction and the fact his breath smelt of scotch, few people would have recognised how drunk Bodie was. Doyle was one of the few.

"Where else would I go?" he asked reasonably, resetting the security chain as Bodie disappeared into the bathroom. Following him, Doyle watched as his partner stuck his head under the cold tap. "I'm off duty for a week, you're suspended and I feel rotten. Thought you might as well make yourself useful and look after me."

Giving an agonised splutter, Bodie reached blindly for the towel, which Doyle passed to him.

When he finally emerged from its folds, Bodie's expression was one of tolerant resignation. "Cheers. I suppose I can manage tea. You look terrible," he added, tossing the towel over the rim of the bath on his way out. "How long d'you reckon you'll be at death's door?"

Ambling into the kitchen at Bodie's heels, Doyle opened the refrigerator and bent to investigate the contents. His inspection didn't take long. "I'll probably die of starvation," he announced pathetically. "There's nothing in here but milk and some furry sausages. And I'm hungry."

"You would be," sighed Bodie, looking more approachable with his damp hair sticking up in undisciplined tufts.

"So where's the food?" demanded Doyle, genuinely aggrieved; Bodie's kitchen could always be relied upon to provide something edible.

"There isn't any."

"That's not like you." Doyle frowned.

"I was planning to go out."

The fact he had been expecting this for months did not lesson its impact. "Oh. Right. Sorry. I'll drink this and be on my way. You won't want to be late for your date." With little idea of what he was saying, Doyle turned away.

Obviously finding it difficult to concentrate, Bodie peered at him. "What date?"

"You said you were going out."

"Yeah. By myself. Bloody hell, Doyle. I haven't got any food because there's been no time for little luxuries like shopping, all right?"

Relaxing, Doyle gave his attention to blowing on his too hot tea, curling his unsteady fingers around the comforting heat of the pottery. "Why did Cowley suspend you?" he asked to fill a potentially uncomfortable silence, aware that he had been guilty of jumping to conclusions.

"None of your business."

Doyle was feeling mellow enough to let that pass. "I hear you gave him a bollocking."

"What if I did? The op. was a balls up from start to finish. It's no thanks to Cowley that we didn't find ourselves a man short. You."

Abandoning his mug Doyle moved to where Bodie stood, settling one hand at his waist, his fingers caressing the Bodie-warm cotton. "But we didn't because you saved me. I owe you. Again."

Bodie barrelled past him before spinning round, as if feeling cornered. "It's all a bloody joke to you, isn't it! Well, it wasn't funny listening to Lexington work you over."

His self-preoccupation fading, Doyle's expression changed. "No, I don't suppose it was. It's always worse being the one on the outside. That's over. Finished."

" _Finished_!" Bodie's voice cracked like splintering wood before he caught Doyle in a bruising hug. His face was hidden from view when he finally added, "I thought everything was finished this time."

"Me, too," Doyle admitted, inhaling the scents of sweat, warehouse grime, whisky and Bodie. "And all the thanks you got was me bawling you out for taking so long to get there. 'M sorry. Thought my number was up. But I didn't mean any of it. You do know that?"

While Doyle couldn't remember exactly what he had said, it wouldn't have been pleasant; an adrenalin rush of fury was just one of the reactions to finding the sentence of death postponed for another day. A tensing of the muscles against him told him that Bodie wanted to be released. He stepped back instantly, knowing how much Bodie hated what he termed 'scenes'.

"You must be feeling ill to apologise," remarked Bodie in more of his usual tone.

Doyle accepted the rebuff because he had no choice. "Cretin. And especially for arguing with Cowley. Pointless exercise that is - we can never win."

"It hasn't stopped you from trying in the past," Bodie pointed out, aggravated by this typical example of the pot calling the kettle black.

"Drink your coffee and have another, you'll need the fluid. How much scotch did you knock back?"

Bodie gave him a quelling look but did as he was told before going into the sitting room to recap the bottle of Glenlivet.

"You were on an expensive drunk," noted Doyle, knowing how unusual it was for Bodie to over-indulge; they couldn't afford to in their line of work, with the possibility of being called out ever-present. It was rare for Bodie to lose control in any way, as if he hated the vulnerability that entailed - or had been taught to fear it. Suspecting the latter, Doyle doubted if he would ever learn what lay at the root of it. Everyone needs some privacy, he reminded himself, especially Bodie. While expert in defending his own rights, he knew he didn’t always remember that Bodie was entitled to the same consideration.

"I know I made a prat of myself, there's no need to belabour the point," snapped Bodie, sinking onto a chair and putting his head back. "Strewth, I'm tired," he added a few minutes later.

"It's hardly surprising. We've been working flat out recently. Why d'you think Cowley suspended you?" Doyle added gently, before a minor grievance occurred to him. "The devious old bugger made me take leave. Maybe I should go back and give him a rollicking."

Bodie gave a reluctant grin. "One idiot on the team at a time is our rule, remember. You can have your turn next week. What did the hospital say?"

"Not a lot once they knew I was CI5." Doyle's attention was on Bodie's bookshelves.

"What are you looking for?"

"The packet of biscuits we bought."

"I ate them last night. You really are hungry. The local take-away won't be open this early."

"Early?"

"It's just gone half-past three - in the afternoon."

"Feels about midnight. It must be the irregular hours we've been keeping. I could eat a horse. No, scrap that, a steak," mused Doyle dreamily, appropriating Bodie's sofa, "and new potatoes, asparagus, onions and peas - with mint. Then apple pie and cream, Stilton, coffee, mints. And what have I got?"

"Furry sausages."

Large green eyes, one of which was swollen half-shut, stared at Bodie in reproach.

Muttering under his breath Bodie hauled his jacket from the chair back and dug in the pockets. "Damn, no money. It'll have to be a cheque. Unless you've got some cash? What am I saying? I know better than to expect the age of miracles."

"I left my money with my ID in my locker," explained Doyle, smug because he had a genuine excuse on this occasion.

"That's a new one. Car keys? No, I'd better not, Cowley'll kill me if I get done for drunk driving."

"He'll have to stand in line. You were knocking it back a bit, weren't you?" Doyle thought he understood why. Most of the time you coped with the near misses; sometimes they were harder to forget.

Pulling on his jacket, Bodie gave a defensive scowl.

Doyle waved a placating hand. "I wasn't having a go. After your run-in with Cowley you were entitled."

"It wasn't that," said Bodie roughly, disdaining the face-saving pretence. "I don't remember feeling that scared for you before. Didn't take to the feeling at all. Bugger it, you're right. It's over."

Eyeing Bodier's strained face, Doyle knew it wasn't; equally, he knew better than to press the point. Bodie was the master of concealment about the things which mattered most to him, tucking his hurts away as if they were something to be ashamed of; conversely, he delighted in sharing his joys. There were times when Doyle wished the balance could be more even, until it dawned on him that it worked both ways. Some things were better not shared; he had his own murky corners which he preferred not to investigate too closely.

"Where are you off to?" he asked idly, becoming aware of the activity around him.

"The shop round the corner should have something edible, though I can't promise you steak and asparagus. What do you think you're doing?" Bodie added as Doyle struggled to assume the vertical.

"Coming with you, of course."

"You're in no state to carry anything."

Doyle spared him a pitying look. "I know you and food. I want something more appetizing than a frozen pizza."

"You can't go out looking like that. You might have changed your shirt but those jeans have got blood down them."

"And oil. Count your blessings, it could be worse. I'm coming with you. We both know I'll do better if I keep on the move. A walk won't do you any harm either, help clear your head. Shift your arse. I'm starving."

Capitulating, Bodie winced, first when Doyle slammed the front door shut, and again as his bloodshot gaze was assaulted by the brilliant sunlight which seemed to bounce off the pavement.

"Have you remembered your cheque card?" demanded Doyle.

Bodie produced it with the weary sigh of one accustomed to unkind slurs.

"Cheque book?"

Muttering under his breath, Bodie went back into the flat to retrieve it.

 

"See, the meal wasn't so bad, was it?" said Bodie, depositing the dirty dishes in the sink.

Doyle rolled his eyes as if despairing of him and swallowed a yawn.

"Go to bed, Ray."

"'S only eight o'clock," mumbled Doyle, but he had the sound of a man willing to be persuaded.

"So? Go on, or you'll make me miss the film."

"What is it?"

" _Jaws_ ," announced Bodie with glee.

"Oh God." Doyle abandoned him to his fate without a backward glance.

His smile fading the moment he was alone, Bodie sat through the film, news, political debate and a repeat of Kojak without hearing a word. Thoughts scurried like rats in a maze, seeking a way out. He and Doyle were too close and it scared him to death. Ray hadn't considered the risks. For someone who liked to examine every angle at least three times, his current irresponsible attitude was driving Bodie crazy, not least because he knew he had over-reacted today. Much more of that and he'd make himself the laughing stock. The trouble was, he couldn't see any way out of the tangle which wouldn't hurt Doyle - not to mention himself.

A keening noise from the blank screen recalled him to the present. Switching off the television, he showered and went into bedroom, pausing as the light revealed his house guest.

Doyle was flat out, face buried, one arm out-flung while he occupied more than his fair share of the mattress. What was visible of his torso was colourful, the beautiful lines of his back marred by swelling and grazes; what could be seen of his profile was equally bruised. He smelt of green apple soap and warm man as he snuffled softly into the pillow he was cuddling to him.

Sliding onto the mattress, Bodie nudged the relaxed figure, determined to win a fair share of his own bed. Doyle gave a muffled grunt and moved, instinctively seeking the source of warmth: the night air was cool.

Damp breath gusting across his windpipe, Doyle's weight slumped over him, Bodie gave an unmarked portion of rib an ungentle prod.

"Wassamatter?" Doyle's head rose infinitesimally. "Oh, 's you." Collapsing back onto his resting place, his muscles relaxed.

"Who were you expecting?" Bodie inquired with a hint of acidity.

"Go t'sleep."

"Why did you come round here today?"

"I don't believe I'm hearing this," moaned Doyle, giving an irritable wriggle before he reluctantly opened both eyes. "Who else would I come to? Shut up and go to sleep. Unless - " one hand uncurled, sliding down Bodie's body " - you're in the mood?"

"Nah, I've never fancied necrophilia."

"They tell me it's dead boring. If you change your mind don't wake me up," instructed Doyle, sliding back onto his half of the bed.

Resentful and wide awake twenty minutes later, Doyle stalked off to the bathroom. He made no attempt to be quiet, presumably on the grounds that it was Bodie's fault for waking him in the first place.

"Can't you sleep?" called Bodie, who had been equally wakeful.

"I could. Then some insensitive prat woke me up. I started thinking."

"Yeah?" Bodie's tone was wary.

"'Bout Betty - " The rest was obscured.

Bodie put the light on and sat back against the pillows to await the next installment, his dark mood dispersing as it usually did when he was actually with Doyle.

"What was that you were burbling about? I missed the last bit when you flushed the bog." He held back the bedclothes for Doyle in the faint hope of keeping some of them.

"Oh that." Doyle rubbed his chin, stubble rasping as he scratched it. "After I missed you in Cowley's office Betty and I had a chat. Did you know she's got a kid - a boy of eight?"

"You're joking'?"

"I thought you didn't," said Doyle smugly, snuggling down and somehow securing two-thirds of the bedclothes.

Resigned to his loss, Bodie gave one of the curls tickling his ribs a gentle tug. "What's she doing working for Cowley then? He likes to keep the family people to the back rooms and B Squad."

"You tell me. We can both quote his views on using family men on the front line."

"Betty's a woman."

"What it is to be a trainer observer," remarked Doyle admiringly. "I'd still like to know why she's working for him."

"Maybe she's Cowley's long lost daughter."

Doyle raised a disdainful eyebrow.

"Cowley's mistress?"

Doyle gave a hoot of unkind laughter.

"Maybe she adopted Cowley's by-blow by a beautiful Russian spy," offered Bodie, scraping the bottom of the barrel.

"You should be writing for TV, you should."

"So why do you think she's working for him?"

"It couldn't have anything to do with the fact she's good at her job, could it?"

"That's no answer. I wonder how she manages because she's never missed a day. It doesn't make sense Cowley taking her on feeling the way he does. You can't get much closer to the front line than working for the head of CI5," mused Bodie.

"I'd got that far myself," said Doyle patiently.

"All right, Sherlock. So how do we discover the truth?"

"We could pull her file."

"Lucas tried that a couple of years ago, after Betty gave him the hard word, remember? The request was flashed straight through to Cowley, who was not amused."

"I'd forgotten that," said Doyle with a reminiscent grin. "Lucas and Mac spent the next month on the graveyard shift as a horrible example to wayward agents who wasted CI5's valuable resources. You'd think the Cow was paying the bills out his own pocket to hear him carry on. OK, skip that idea. We could bug Betty's 'phone."

Bodie chose to ignore that burst of insanity. "Why don't we just ask her? Or rather you can now you've established such a rapport with her."

"I'd thump you if I had the energy. Maybe she's got the goods on the Old Man." It was clear the idea gave Doyle enormous pleasure.

Bodie spared him a look of scorn. "One, he's so straight he makes a tent pole look crooked. Two, who in their right minds would blackmail someone for the privilege of working for CI5? There's always emotional blackmail," he added thoughtfully.

"Can't be. Cowley hasn't got any emotions."

"He's not that bad."

"Compared to what? Nah, you're right. Betty's all right, too. I suppose the reason Cowley hired her will just have to stay one of the great mysteries of life. She's entitled to a private life, the same as anyone else."

Bodie placed his palm on Doyle's forehead. "This is you talking, isn't it?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that give you a secret to worry and you're usually worse than a ferret in a rabbit warren." Bodie's voice held a note of bitter experience.

"Maybe I am. It doesn't mean to say I don't know when I'm beaten," muttered Doyle, his attention ostensibly given to worrying the hang-nail on the side of his thumb.

Bodie gave him a worried look. "So Betty's secret is safe with us?" he said, as if he believed she was still the topic of conversation.

Looking tired, Doyle nodded. "I've done my bit. 'S lucky she didn't surrender to my manly charms though."

Bodie felt an unpleasant pang, which he refused to acknowledge as a twinge of jealousy. "Why?" He placed a possessive hand on Doyle's shoulder.

"Because I don't fancy fucking her just to win two hundred quid," replied Doyle with crude simplicity.

"She's a bit of all right, is Betty," Bodie felt duty-bound to point out.

"Then you fuck her," snapped Doyle, shrugging free of the other man's touch.

"She turned me down eighteen months ago. You still haven't answered my question."

"I prefer to concentrate on one person at a time," said Doyle, goaded.

"Me?"

"Quick, very quick." Doyle's tone was pure acid.

Bodie peered at what he could see of his companion's averted face. "You mean you haven't been seeing anyone else since we started - ?" His voice trailed away.

"No. But you're free to do whatever you want."

"So are you," returned Bodie, immediately on the defensive.

"I've already got what I want." Doyle immediately looked as if he wished his brain had caught up with his tongue.

"I'm not ready to be tied down," said Bodie flatly.

"I know that. I should do, you mention it often enough. But it's a pity, because I've got this lovely fantasy of you spread-eagled on the bed - tied there, in fact," mused Doyle, a distant look in his eyes. "And you're mine for the night. To do what I want with."

A ripple of reaction tightening his body, Bodie swallowed hard. "I could be persuaded to change my mind," he conceded.

"I don't want to have to persuade you," said Doyle harshly.

Bodie blinked, the change of mood leaving him behind. "Why not?"

Sitting up to hug his knees, Doyle leant his forehead on them. "I want you of your own free will or not at all."

"In case you hadn't noticed, no one's holding a gun to my head. I'm here because I want to be."

"But you resent wanting me." The acceptance in the muffled voice took Bodie aback.

"It's dangerous to get too involved. In our line of work that can get you dead."

Raising his head, Doyle gave him a cold look. "Don't confuse sex with involvement. We've been 'involved' for years." Leaving the bed, he began to collect up his clothes.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Anyone would think I'd just kicked you out."

"In case you hadn't noticed, you just did. I knew I should've kept quiet but..." Doyle took a deep breath. "I like working with you, I enjoy your company off-duty and I love having sex with you. Only it's more than that for me and I'm tired of pretending it isn't."

"You want to announce it to the world?"

His jeans in one hand, Doyle turned to face him. "No, just you."

Studying the opposite wall with a grim determination, Bodie's tongue darted nervously over his dry lips. "I think a lot of you," he offered.

"Oh, good." Doyle hauled on his jeans.

"Why d'you have to analyse the obvious?" Bodie added irritably.

"Just naturally stupid, I suppose."

Feeling Doyle's needs pressing down on him, Bodie knew they couldn't be expectations; he taken care to ensure Doyle had no excuse for forming any. "I won't argue with that. But I don't see why you have to be so...intense. I'm not ready to settle down - with you or anyone else."

Doyle did not, as Bodie had expected, lose his temper. Instead, he sank next to him, staring as Bodie was staring, at the carpet. His unfastened shirt was caught up on one side of his waistband. Absently Bodie smoothed it down for him.

"You put your life on the line for me today, not for the first time," said Doyle quietly. "As far as I know - and I'm not asking - you haven't slept with anyone else since Christmas. You've always managed to put up with my moods, day in, day out. These last few months have been good for me - and you, I thought. You keep me content. More than I've ever known. Maybe that doesn't add up to much in your book, it means 'settling down' in mine. But if you want to call it something else - even ‘convenient’ - that's fine by me. I just need to know you feel something about it."

His expression unreadable, Bodie gave a soft sigh, as if he had just been relieved of some great burden. "I don't call it anything else," he conceded, "and particularly not _convenient_. You silly sod." There was no bite in his voice as he accepted the inevitable; in fact the admission came easily to him considering the resistance he'd been putting up. Being the man he was, he made a final, token protest. "All right, I know what you're telling me, and I'm not denying that I feel the same way, but it's bad luck to - "

"Luck's got nothing to do with it," Doyle told him flatly.

Bodie could not suppress a grin at that typical tenacity. "I suppose it hasn't." At peace, he sat enjoying the warmth of his partner's body where it brushed his own. "Or not much."

Encouraged by Doyle's fleeting grin of acknowledgement, he added, "It's always put the wind up me when you've been in stuck out on a limb while some bastard's busy sawing it off." His manner was that of one announcing startling news.

"Goes with being part of a good team in our line of work, mate. The fact we're lovers doesn't change a thing."

"You feel the same?" Looking up, Bodie found himself under the microscope of Doyle's unblinking scrutiny. "Stupid question," he accepted.

Relaxing, Doyle smiled. "But in character."

With that unquestioning acceptance, it suddenly struck Bodie as ridiculous that they should be solemnly sitting here, shoulder to shoulder in the middle of the night, wasting time talking about the obvious.

"You're not going to want to hold hands in public after this, are you?" he demanded. To his relief Doyle understood.

"Not in the foreseeable future."

"In that case come back to bed, you look all in."

Affection and exasperation visible in equal proportions on his face, Doyle shook his head. "One thing's for sure, it wasn't your way with words that hooked me."

"Are you saying I'm not perfect?" inquired Bodie, as he helped him out of his shirt.

"Damn, you guessed." Doyle covered the hand Bodie had placed on the fastening of his jeans. "Are you really OK about this - us?"

Sliding his hand up warm flesh, Bodie rubbed Doyle's right nipple with the side of his thumb. "You know I am."

Standing up, and allowing Bodie to unfasten and ease down his jeans until he could step out of them, Doyle touched the dark head with gentle fingers. "I hoped I did. It's not always the same thing."

"It is to you," said Bodie, ducking the swipe aimed at him.

Resettled, they lay contentedly together, their bodies no more than brushing.

"D'you really fancy tying me down to have your wicked way with me?" Bodie asked, wondering just how tired his companion was.

Drifting contentedly toward sleep, it took Doyle a moment to place the reference. "Nah," he said after a pause for thought. "I prefer a bit more enthusiasm from my bedmates. I dunno though..." Stirring to eye Bodie speculatively, a note of interest entered his voice.

"I do," Bodie said positively, "and the answer's no. I'm not giving you the satisfaction of being able to tell Cowley I'm tied up the next time he calls us in." He silenced Doyle's heartfelt groan by the simple expedient of kissing him.

"I got you worried though, didn't I," said Doyle, some time later, supine and unprotesting beneath him.

"If it makes you happy to think so," said Bodie kindly.

Wide awake by this time, Doyle rimmed Bodie's navel with the tip of his forefinger. "You mean you didn't even wonder?"

"Course not, I know you." Bodie staunchly tried to ignore the muscles twitching in response to that touch.

"Are you saying I'm predictable?"

"Give me strength," muttered Bodie, casting his eyes to the ceiling. A poke redirected his attention. "Only in the best possible sense," he amended hastily.

Over-playing his hand, Doyle gave him a dark look.

Bodie's mouth began to quiver. "Pack it in, will you," he begged.

"Nearly got you that time," noted Doyle with satisfaction.

"It's a certainty if you keep going south," Bodie hinted.

"I'll swing for you one day." Pinned by the body balanced over him, Doyle grimaced, lacking his usual dexterity. "Sorry, mate, you'll have to shift yourself. Anything too energetic is out tonight. I didn't say we had to abandon the idea completely," he added with asperity when Bodie showed every sign of taking him too literally.

Bodie paused. "Are you sure you're up to it?"

"Failing memory too," mourned Doyle, before he grinned. "Only you could ask at a time like this."

"Considerate to a fault, that's me." Moving to some purpose, Bodie caught his partner unawares.

Doyle's breath hissed out, a soft sound of pleasure escaping him. "You're a bastard," he moaned, when the warm mouth which had promised so much, abandoned him.

His broad hands gentle where he held Doyle's flanks, Bodie gave a heart-stopping smile of great sweetness. "True. But look on the bright side, I'm all yours."

Doyle's look of satisfaction spoke volumes, even before Bodie lowered his head again.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Completed 13th January 1992
> 
> Published in British Takeaway 6


End file.
